


a visit

by WeepingBells



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: A look inside Gellert Grindelwald, Bathilda Bagshot is a good aunt. or you could say... a great aunt, Character Study, M/M, Or my version of him, Past Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald, Self-Indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 23:24:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20497085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeepingBells/pseuds/WeepingBells
Summary: The blood pact has been broken, but that's not the only thing that was shattered that night. A broken Gellert Grindelwald seeks comfort in a place he hasn't returned to in almost thirty years.





	a visit

The blood pact was broken when the clock chimed to warn the inhabitants of Nurmengard Castle witching hour was upon them. 

Gellert Grindelwald shot up in bed, clutching his heart. Most might have screamed from the pain that now surged through his body, but Gellert found himself dreadfully silent. He clenched his jaw and tears blurred his vision as he stumbled out of bed. His feet dragged along the stone floor of his room as he walked, almost falling into the chair in front of his vanity. The candles were burning low, almost drowning in their own wax. They made his face appear gaunt and grim in the mirror- was that truly his appearance? His hair hung in his eyes and he shoved it back with an impatient huff. Pain was rolling over him in waves now, and it seemed to be waning, however extremely slow, almost like molasses.

He couldn’t believe Albus had found a way to break the pact. How had he done this once impossible feat? How many tireless nights had Albus spent, trying to find a way to break the only thing that kept the two from facing each other? He let out a shaky sigh, wiping at his face. His only chance to bring paradise to the world had ridden on his hope that the blood pact would be unbreakable. Now what? Where was he supposed to go from here? He was sure his mind would find some cunning way to get through this unforeseen problem, but for now, he felt as though he was falling apart at the seams. 

He wondered briefly if Scamander- the younger one, the one Albus favored, the one that had helped the obscurus- had also helped Albus break the pact. Was it a creature?

Nothing stood between him and Albus now. He knew Albus would be set on destroying him. Would he even hesitate? The Albus he once knew would’ve never hurt him, even without a blood pact in the way. Gellert’s mind couldn’t stay on one subject, jumping from one passing thought to the next. He found himself  _ panicking _ . Gellert Grindelwald rarely panicked. He could only remember one other instance in his life where his heart hammered so. The day Ariana had died.

The day was as normal as could be. He awoke in Albus’ arms, the older boy smiling down at him like the world was theirs. Back then, the world seemed to be cupped in their palms, with no chance of slipping through their fingers. Gellert had felt his heart flutter at the sight, smiling softly as Albus bent down to kiss him. It seemed juvenile to Gellert now, how his younger self had recoiled and joked about how his breath smelled of his aunt’s stew (it truly was a terrible dish and younger Gellert had been right. Albus Dumbledore had terrible morning breath). He was foolish in his teenage years.

Gellert stood shakily from the chair, huffing out a sigh. He didn’t wish to think of such trivial things, things that might spark something inside him. An undesirable emotion, perhaps, regret. Gellert Grindelwald did not  _ regret  _ things- it wasn’t apart of his nature, or he’d like to believe that it wasn’t. He shook his head, he couldn’t lose his resolve. It might be all he had left in these moments.

His mind conjured a memory of Albus again. That damnable smile, that wonderful twinkle in his eyes. It would make anyone’s heart flutter- it had to, after all it had made his own absolutely erratic. The first time he laid eyes on  Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was the day he arrived in England. He was still seething due to the fact he was expelled from Durmstrang only a week prior. They had to have learned what a mistake that was by now.. Gellert couldn’t just be  _ casted out. He was irreplaceable.  _

Suddenly, he was thinking of that young magizoologist again. He frowned, sitting on the foot of his bed. The pain had subsided to a dull rhythm in his chest. Newton Scamander was a wonder, he thought. A marvel seemed to be a better word to describe him, however. His need to help the helpless, the hopeless. Gellert helped the hopeless too. Yet, why was Newton Scamander allowed to stand by Albus’ side, where he himself once stood?

Aunt Bathilda was a terrible cook, she was extremely naive, but she had loved him and she could carry a long and lengthy conversation about many various topics. He missed her terribly at times, very rare times, yet he found himself unable to seek her out. He ignored the tightness in his throat whenever his thoughts turned to sipping cocoa in her foyer while she, Albus, and himself debated over several odd topics (once a conversation led to if the relationship between Gregorus the Stupendous and Messandra the Dreadful was more intimate than it seemed). Anyway, Aunt Bathilda had actually been the one to introduce Gellert to Albus, shoving the two into her garden to ‘work’. She had felt terrible about the circumstances of Gellert’s coming to England and felt he needed a friend. She was under the impression that Gellert hadn’t come to England by choice, though that was far from the truth.

What would she have done if she was privy to what their friendship would blossom into? What it would eventually lead to? Gellert decided she would have never let him through the threshold of her front door, if that were the case. He was grateful that she hadn’t had any foresight and introduced him to Albus. When was the last time he saw his aunt? He clutched his wand, looking down at it. He could visit her, but why would he? It was an unnecessary risk, chasing a feeling that wouldn’t last. Tightness built in his throat as he threw on a cloak and slipped on shoes.

It had been too long since he last visited his aunt, truly. With a loud crack, Gellert Grindelwald disappeared from his room at Nurmengard Castle, and reappeared in Godric’s Hollow. 

Gellert knew he wasn’t thinking straight. It wasn’t hard to tell, and he was aware of the rashness of his own decisions. He pulled the hood of his cloak up as he began the trek towards his aunt’s house, which was still situated next to the home of the Dumbledores. Yet, no one lived there anymore. He stopped on the sidewalk in front of the home Ariana had been killed in years ago, taking in the sight of it. A dense weight settled in his chest as he noticed scorch marks where spells were tested on the door, colorful splotches on the side of the house where pranks were carried out. He sighed, before looking to his aunt’s home. It looked the same as it had nearly thirty years ago. He took a step towards it, then another, and he was slowly, numbly, walking towards what was his home for a short number of months. A light was on inside. He looked down and found that he was standing on his aunt’s welcoming mat. A sigh escaped him and he knocked on the front door of his aunt’s home.

He waited, hearing sounds coming from inside the house. Suddenly, he felt the urge to apparate away and not look back. He felt his heartbeat quicken, by the grace of the throbbing in his chest. The door slowly opened, and his aunt’s face poked out from the gap between the door and its frame.

“Gellert? Is that you?” she croaked, confusion on her face. “You shouldn’t be here,” she added in a hiss, yet she opened the door. Then she ushered him in, her tiny hands shoving him through the threshold. He stumbled. Once Gellert was steady on his feet, he straightened and looked around. Everything was the same. He frowned, turning to say something to his aunt. He was startled to see his aunt right in front of him, eyes shining with tears. Then she hugged him.

Gellert’s eyes widened, staring blankly at the opposite wall. He always hated the wallpaper in this room… He slid his arms around his aunt, having to bend down slightly. 

“My boy… why are you here?” she whispered, hugging him tighter. Her voice shook slightly. He rubbed her back.

“I’m not sure, Aunt Bathilda,” he admitted softly, pulling away. His hands moved to her shoulders. “I must thank you for letting me in, I-”

“You are wanted by every ministry of magic in the world. ‘Darkest wizard of all time’, they say. My nephew has gone, hasn’t he?” She placed her small, wrinkled hands atop his, taking them off her shoulders and stepping back. 

“I’m- I’m still your nephew.” Did his voice break? No, of course not. He was  _ long  _ past cracking voices and awkward limbs. Yet he felt like he was outside of his body as he looked down at his aunt, hands shaking slightly.

“The Gellert I knew, my nephew, would have never committed these… atrocities. Killing muggles, Gellert? Vying for a world where muggles are inferior? What has happened to you, my boy?” She sounded hurt and confused, and Gellert felt lost at her tone. Anger bubbled somewhere in his chest, but mixed with countless emotions he couldn’t keep track of. 

“I’m still your nephew,” he repeated in a whisper. His throat felt tight, and he felt as helpless as a decapitated body. 

Bathilda regarded him, eyes like steel. She also appeared upset, shaking in her slippers and clutching her nightgown. 

“You have changed, Gellert,” she said, stating the obvious. “Yet I still long to speak with you and to hold you as I once had,” she laughed humorlessly, “You’re a man grown now, why are you here? Seeking comfort in an old woman’s home?”

“I am  _ not _ seeking comfort-” he protested, yet she cut him off.

“Don’t think I can’t see the pain in your eyes, my boy,” her voice was stern, yet quiet. He swallowed, sinking down onto the couch. It was the squishy one with embroidered flowers on it, the one he found tacky. Yet he had secretly loved it, for it was positioned in the perfect place to  _ Accio  _ books from his aunt’s small library, fall asleep, and be awoken by the morning sun. He looked down at his hands, barren of his usual rings.

His aunt sat beside him, however, she left a cushion between them.

“Something is eating away at you,” her tone had softened. She stood, even though she had just taken a seat.

“I’ll make us some cocoa. Collect yourself in that time, my boy,” she shuffled out of the living room and into the kitchen. Gellert could hear the familiar sounds of her brewing the cocoa, and it made his chest feel warm. He swallowed yet again, trying to stifle the tightness in his throat. He rubbed his eyes (for he was tired, not due to any other reasons), before leaning back against the throw pillows that adorned the couch. He turned his head, and suddenly he was face to face with a photograph. One of him and Albus during that fateful summer.

He picked it up, looking down at it. They were laughing, falling over each other in their joy. Both of their hands were locked together, fingers intertwined. A drop of water hit the glass of the frame, and Gellert wiped it away quickly. 

By the time his aunt had returned with the cocoa, Gellert had pulled himself together. On the outside, at least. His emotions were in turmoil. He refused to speak of his thoughts with his aunt. They sat in near silence.

Gellert sipped his cocoa. Usually he’d be more careful, testing the drink for traces of potion, yet he couldn’t find it in himself to care, or worry that his own aunt would attempt to hurt him. Eventually, his aunt moved closer and wrapped an arm around him. 

“My boy, I am scared to imagine the future. If you win… do your best to keep your humanity. If you lose… I hope mercy will be found for your fate,” she murmured, standing. She used his shoulder to balance herself. She took his empty mug as she planted a kiss atop his head. 

“I love you, my boy. But I think it would be best if you left,” she spoke as she walked away, into the kitchen. Gellert frowned at her retreating back.

A crack sounded out and suddenly, it was like Gellert Grindelwald never returned to Godric’s Hollow, or spoke to his aunt. All that remained of the shared time between the two, time which barely equated to an hour, were dirty mugs that once held hot cocoa.

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoyed my writing style? Want more? Follow me on Instagram at @WeepingBells to get updates on works in progress! I’ll also occasionally hold events for questions about me or my works, suggestions for future works, or just to have fun! This may not happen immediately, though, due to a lack of audience. Once the account gets 15 followers, I’ll start an event for questions and suggestions! Thank you so much for reading! <3


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